Here's a two-part angsty, cheating fic. Although we always think our favorite characters are too good and pure for infidelity, I don't think that's true. As a fully grown married adult, it's easier said than done. History…past loves…unfulfilled expectations…these are things that genuinely occur.
She knows what she stands to lose if this ever comes to light. She's more than familiar with the heartbreak and tears and the dangerous paths the mind takes into self- reflection and self-doubt. It's all too common knowledge for her that each time the heart breaks, it gets harder and harder to put back together.
In the stillness of the evening, lying in the bed they now share, she can hear the marching of blood through her veins and wonders how it is she's still alive considering no one can possibly live with such a fractured vital organ.
Jackie rolls to her back and feels the silk of her nightgown catch on the rough sheets. Not like the ones she had graced her bed between the walls of a mansion. The place with antiques and multiple rooms that'd go unused for months and the sound of the maid humming to herself. The kind of place that would grow a girl like her. No. She's here now- rough sheets a testament of how mature she's gotten- because she doesn't complain. Steven had run roughshod over her upbringing and opinions over the years, and now that they were adults (and together) he still hadn't stopped.
Their friends had always accused her of nattering on about things of no consequence. Clothes and shoes and makeup, whatever else they deemed unimportant slowly faded to the background. And now, at twenty-one, she's only now realizing that she had sold herself short and just because she didn't (and still doesn't) care about politics or rock music or whatever else doesn't mean she isn't less of a person.
And maybe this is why she's lying in bed, still slick between the thighs with the cum of a man that isn't Steven Hyde.
She can still smell him on her, and this is the second time she's come to bed without showering first. Perhaps it's an act of rebellion, flaunting her indiscretions in front of the notorious rebel. To see what she can get away with, how close she can balance along the edge without tottering over.
Now though, she hears Steven come in and watches through lid-heavy eyes as he strips down to his boxers. A sight that once filled her with lust and passion and love is now overshadowed by near indifference. She presses the heel of her palm to her chest and wonders what moment had honed her into a callous, cheating bitch.
But, Steven just flops down next to her, mattress dipping from his weight. "'Night, doll," is all he says before rolling over. He smells like beer and old cigarettes so Jackie rolls over in the opposite direction. Sliding a hand between her closed thighs, she runs a fingertip over the moisture. Rubbing what is left of him between two fingers, she slowly brings it up to her closed lips.
And for a moment she can pretend its Eric next to her.
It starts at the end.
It feels like the end because they were all grown- jobs and college and family have all scattered them. It's the first time they've all gotten together, just the six of them in months. It certainly looks like 'the good ol' days,' with them packed into the Forman's basement taking the places that were designated for them years ago.
Yet while everyone's life was fanning them out in different points like a pinwheel, she was still there, perched on the lap on Steven, while he drank beer and caught up with their friends.
But, that isn't right. Unlike the loud, opinionated teenager she was then, demanding attention, she finds herself more reserved. When she does try to join in, they speak over her. She tries again, and Steven just snorts and says something like, "Doll face, you wouldn't know." What it is she doesn't know, she can't remember, but she does remember blinking back tears as she clutches a lukewarm beer in one hand while fingering a hole in his shirt collar with the other- staring at the KISS poster that's still up-and thinking how she had let herself come to this.
No one defended her, or asked her what ever it was she was trying to say, and it dawns on her that maybe they weren't her friends after all. All the years of teasing her or belittling her or outright dismissing her suddenly can't be brushed off anymore.
After all these years, and she still hasn't fully integrated into this group. After all this time, she's finally cottoned on. The realization feels like being stabbed with a dull knife between the ribs. Was she that insufferable? That unlovable-unwanted?
The urge to flee consumes her. Her muscles tense and she pivots oh so slightly in Steven's lap, preparing to get up slowly, to set the beer down on the spool and casually walk out. Jackie Burkhart wants to step through that door and never, ever look back. Not at Steven or Donna or Fez…none of them.
The laughter buzzes around her, but it's faint and indistinct, as if she's underwater. The low rumble of Steven's voice reverberates in her chest, and somehow that springs her into action. She moves slowly, because it now it feels as if she's moving underwater, and does what she set out to do.
Halfway down the driveway she wonders if anyone even knew or cared that she left.
"Jackie?"
She startles and turns around to find Eric clutching two beers. What on Earth he could possibly want from her, she isn't sure. Wasn't he the one who hated her the most? She raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to say something. Something sarcastic or rude or insulting.
"Where're you going? I thought we were…" He trails off and waves an arm in the direction of the basement door.
"Thought we were…what?" She's engaging in a conversation she doesn't want to be in, and suddenly she tired. Eric looks at her confused, as if she's asked the question in Russian, and that just makes her more exhausted.
"Catching up, obviously. Where you going?" The thing about the expression he has doesn't clear anything up for her. He looks genuinely curious and baffled, beers still in his hands.
Somehow, though the specifics are a little hazy, he talks her into staying. They share the beer he brought out as the made their way to patio chairs. The conversation is a little awkward at first, but gradually becomes friendly. Her defenses are still up, but when he offers to grab more beer- gliding through the screen door, the recognizable clacking of the blinds still the same- she decides that maybe he isn't out to humiliate her.
They talk, just the two of them, and it strikes her that it is so far beyond anything she's used to, it trips her up momentarily. And, despite how rude and uncouth he was to her so long ago, he isn't like that now.
And that's when he first kisses her.
She freezes, knowing that cheating is so wrong. Just a meeting of lips is enough because she knows- she knows what that did to her.
But it can't be helped. Eric pulls away and apologizes, but she pulls him back to her and reciprocates in the direst of ways.
She had shaken off the notion that she needed a man to make her complete, but Eric (oh Eric) was a crush she was never willing to admit to herself, and she's flattered that he kissed her because he's one of the Good Guys.
He lifter her up on the picnic table in his parent's yard, crickets chirping. It was still a Wisconsin summer. His breath is heavy in her ears as he unsnaps her blouse.
She scrambles to kick off a boot that would allow her to peel off her hose, and the guilt hits her. The palpitating shame is almost welcoming. Jackie is acutely aware of her actions, though she suspects she could blame it on the small bit of alcohol she's had.
But she doesn't.
Eric gently pulls her legs aside as he closes in on her, and she unbuckles his belt. They stare at each other as if they both are questioning, hoping. Her lips part as she stares into his green eyes, and as if it's muscle memory she tilts her head back and spreads her legs open just far enough for him to meet her.
And he does.
His long fingers swipe at her panties just enough to insert himself in her.
He pounds away, filling her up as her head bangs against the hard wood of the table.
A/N I'm not trying to demonize Hyde, but to me? He's always sort have been insensitive to Jackie. She was trying to mold herself into someone he'd want, although that's not who she really is, you know?
Also: this is the closest thing to smut I've written.
Like it? Hate it? Let me know.